The Dead Prince
by Mephisteron
Summary: The Von Carstein family has ruled Sylvania for thousands of years through a combination of dark magic and cruel strength. Now, one of the greatest vampires in existence has found himself in the land of Alagaesia
1. Chapter 1

I can almost taste their blood. I can almost feel their fear. I am in ecstasy. My sword cuts a bloody arc through the fleeing elves, severing arms and legs, and cutting open throats and stomachs. It impales one of the elves through the back of his skull, his scream cut short as my blade enters his brain. One elf turns to face me, a mad terror giving her a frenzied courage. I seize the hapless elf by the throat and bash her skull in against a tree. Another leaps for me, sword held high. My sword severs his head in a single stroke. The rest flee in terror as I release the mangled corpse of the elf whose brains I pulped. I look at the bloody mess at my feet. This was barely worth the effort. Slowly, I wrench the heart out of the chest of the beheaded elf. As I squeeze the red fluid into my mouth, I feel the invigorating sensation of life. I feel the cold heart in my chest begin to beat once more, blood pumping through my veins. The sensation will vanish soon enough, but for now, it sustains me. I now stand alone, this small forest glade stained red by my hunger. I do not know where I am, but that is easily remedied. I seize the chin of a slain elf, bringing the creature's face to eye level. A few choice words in the old tongue, and a shimmering image stands before me, the soul of the slain elf.

_What have you done to me? Why am I here? _The spirit screams. Understandable, the agony of soul binding is rather intense. So is the shock of being wrenched from the grasp of death.

"Where is here?" A useful stipulation of this spell, the entrapped soul must answer the summoner. I thank Nagash for this now. It would be terribly annoying if I had to interrogate a ghost.

_Du Weldenvarden. The home of the elves. Why are you doing this to me? _The last sentence is spoken as a sob. Heartbreaking. Pathetic.

"What is this land called?"

_Alagaesia! Alagaesia! Please! Let me go! _Rather amusing this suffering routine of the resurrected souls. I must do this more often.

A wave of my hand, and the spirit vanishes. Alagaesia, a land I have never heard of. No matter. Sylvania or anywhere else, I am still immortal, and I still hunger. I am content.

With a satisfied sigh, I walk off into the darkness of the forest, soft moonlight reflecting off of my armor.


	2. Chapter 2

Letta: Stop

Deyja: Die

Nosu eru einradhins? Du fell er eom waise eldrvaryai?: We are resolved? The monster is to be burned?

Sprechen wir über diese?: Can we talk about this?

Ich habe keine weiße Flagge aber sie wird ich tun?: I don't have a white flag but will I give up do?

I offer my sword and my wit, my hunger and my thirst, my heart and my soul in service of thy throne. Blood begets blood, ruin begets ruin, and death begets death. So swear the children of the Von Carsteins..: A blood bonding oath that links two vampire's minds together, usually a superior and subordinate of the same family. If used on a non vampire, the living part of the oath will slowly become obsessed with the taste of blood, specifically that of the vampire who initiated the oath and with whom the living part exchanged blood. This will eventually force the living part to become a thrall to the vampire's will.

* * *

I must admit I rather like this fresh food, clean air, and healthy living rot. It's rather exhilarating. As I walk through the forest I can feel a myriad of energies around me, invigorating and strengthening me. It is not magic, or at least I don't think it is. I don't feel the usual disturbance in the eight winds as I move, nor do I feel the energy of the dead flow through my veins. And yet my heart beats as I absorb this strange energy, blood gushing through my veins. It is a quite unusual sensation, being alive. Normally I need to feed continuously in order to remain "alive" but here, here I do not hunger. I think I will stay here for a while.

I am so wrapped up in my thoughts, that I do not notice the dozen or so figures that have appeared around me.

"Letta!" snaps one of the figures. My sword is out and at the elf's throat in a matter of seconds. Five bows are pointed at my face as well. Not a productive turn of events.

"Deyja." The elf murmurs. My head feels light and then the world goes black. I have died. How quaint.

Now let me be clear. Dying is not a miraculous event for a vampire. On the contrary, it happens with annoying regularity. Any blow that would kill most powerful beings will kill us as well, the only difference being that we do not remain dead. A little blood in the wrong place, a teeny bit of magical energy, a bad thought, or even the presence of life, and guess who! It has its flaws, as one may very well return to the world he left in the center of a crowd of foes, as I have done.

"Nosu eru einradhins? Du fell er eom waise eldrvaryai?" The strange words come from a rather flamboyantly dressed elvish woman at the end of the hall. Even though I do not know the words, I can guess the meaning. They mean to burn my body. Not good. Rising slowly, I find that I tower above every elf in the hall. Eyes widen in shock, and jaws drop.

"Can we talk about this?"

* * *

Islanzadi stared in horror as the corpse rose to it's feet. Cruel red eyes glinted in the half darkness of the throne room, and the elf queen saw the creature's pallid skin stretch as it opened it's mouth

"Sprechen wir über diese?" the creature hissed, it's voice little more than a terrifying whisper, but it carried to every person in the hall.

The monster was answered by a forest of arrows, blades, spears, and the open maw of a dragon. The dragon rider Eragon stood behind the monster, his blade pressed against it's neck. To Islanzadi's suprise however, the creature did not appear troubled. Calmly it raised two clawed hands above it's head and called "Ich habe keine weiße Flagge aber sie wird ich tun?" Clearly an act of surrender.

Islanzadi motioned with one hand, and Eragon slowly lowered his blade. The creature turned to the young dragon rider and leered, a superior smirk plastered across it's face. Turning to Islanzadi, the creature gave a small bow and suddenly, Islanzadi felt an indescribably massive consciousness enter her own. As it tore through her mental defences as if they weren't there, she saw flickering images of dark forests and forbidding castles. An ancient and cruel voice echoed through the elf queen's mind, the voice of the creature.

_I am Heinrich Von Carstein, the blood son of Aleksander Von Carstein, the lord of Vulfsbad. I offer my sword and my wit, my hunger and my thirst, my heart and my soul in service of thy throne. Blood begets blood, ruin begets ruin, and death begets death. So swear the children of the Von Carsteins._

The draining sensation, one Islanzadi experienced when using magic made the elf queen fall forwards towards the creature. With a deft movement, the creature caught the elf in a rather bizarre manner. He allowed her teeth to dig into his right wrist, while his long fangs entered her neck. They remained in this position for a few moments then were pulled apart by several elves, Islanzadi with a strained groan the creature with a malicious little cackle.

"You have tasted my blood elf!" the creature called out in what sounded like the ancient language as he was dragged away by several guards and Eragon. "How does the blood of the dead taste?"


	3. Chapter 3

RnR I don't own warhammer or the inheritance cycle. Foreign languages are translated at the bottom of the page

* * *

Eragon glowered at the creature hanging like a kitten from Saphira's jaws as they flew towards the Gaena River. The creature's eyes narrowed, his entire expression almost begging Eragon to attack him. Normally Eragon would have done so in a heartbeat, but after witnessing the creature's resurrection in the elven court, Eragon was not sure he could win such a contest.

"Hei junge! Wie über das erhalten ihrer überwachsen schlange, mich nieder." the creature smirked, then hissed in pain as Saphira shook her head, shaking the creature like a rat.

"Verdammnis Tier! Werden sie stoppen? Ich habe brach vier Rippen bereits!" the creature snarled up at the blue dragon, it's red eyes blazing.

_Be silent little creature. I cannot understand your yammerings and if you speak again I will eat you. _Saphira warned, her thoughts projected into both Eragon's and the creature's minds.

_I will not be silent and besides_, _I taste dreadful. _The creature sent an image of rotting flesh into Saphira's and Eragon's thoughts, making both of them wince in disgust.

_See? For all we know, eating me will make you sick! _The creature's amusement clearly annoyed Saphira for she snarled audibly and sent a small burst of flame out of her nose, just missing the creature's long pointed ears.

"Ficken! Beobachten Sie das Feuer atmen!" the creature screeched, a strange sort of panic in it's voice.

Eventually Eragon and Saphira reached the edge the Gaena. A small island sat in the center of the river, a small prison like tower jutting out of a grove of trees. The door of the tower should hold the creature, and if it didn't, well the current would kill the creature if it tried to swim across With a flick of her head, Saphira tossed the thing through the door of the tower, which Eragon quickly slammed shut as the creature leapt for the opening. A resounding clang made a flock of birds fly off as the creatures skull bounced off of the steel bars. Again and again the creature charged at the door, it's face contorted in a rictus of pain and rage.

"Sie hurensohn! Ich werde zerreißen, ihre Herzen und fest auf ihre Seelen! Ich werde reißen sie Teil von gliedmaßen! Wie Wagen sie halten mich hier! Niedrige geboren cur! Wenn ihr Vater war Kupplung mit einem säen, Ich war führenden armeen! Wie Wagen sie halten mich hier!" The creature roared, it's fetid breath making Eragon reel back.

Turning his back on the monster, Eragon mounted Saphira and the pair flew off, the sound of an incoherent scream of hate following them.

* * *

Hei junge! Wie über das erhalten ihrer überwachsen schlange, mich nieder: Hey boy! How about getting your overgrown serpent to put me down.

Verdammnis Tier! Werden sie stoppen? Ich habe brach vier Rippen bereits!: Damnation beast! Will you stop that? I've snapped four ribs already!

Ficken! Beobachten Sie das Feuer atmen!: Fuck! Watch it with the fire breathing!

Sie hurensohn! Ich werde zerreißen, ihre Herzen und fest auf ihre Seelen! Ich werde reißen sie Teil von gliedmaßen! Wie Wagen sie halten mich hier! Niedrige geboren cur! Wenn ihr Vater war Kupplung mit einem säen, Ich war führenden armeen! Wie Wagen sie halten mich hier!: You son of a bitch! I shall tear out your hearts and feast on your souls! I shall tear you limb from limb! How dare you hold me here! Low born cur! When your father was coupling with a sow, I was leading armies! How dare you keep me here!


	4. Chapter 4

I am in pain. The water around me causes me pain. Moving water, the prison of the damned. I can barely stand the pain is so acute. The movement of water coupled with my sealing within this accursed tower is definitely not one of the things I had on my to do list for the day. There are few laws a vampire cannot break, and I just broke two of them. One, no vampire may cross running water, nor may a vampire enter a sanctuary whose entrance is made of steel without explicit permission. I am trapped in this damned tower, powerless and weak. A pitiful end to the being that killed three of the thirteen dukes of Bretonnia in a single hour. Not only am I trapped, but that irritating excuse for a monarch is free from the influence of our blood oath for as long as I am surrounded by moving water, which looks to be for the rest of eternity. Or until I can find a large amount of oil and a fire. Between us, I prefer suicide to an eternity without anything to do. I've seen what Necrarchs look like and believe me, they don't get out much. With a half hearted snarl I put my fist through a very old painting hanging from a wall. To my surprise, a very annoyed voice calls out too me from the hole in the painting.

"Hey! That one cost me over ten thousand nekhariti you son of a bitch. What did you go putting your hand through it for?"

I nearly jump out of my skin. Peering through the hole in the painting, I see a large room, lit by hundreds of candles. A hunched figure sits at a desk in the center of stacks of tomes, its long pallid hands slowly turning pages as he glares through the hole at me.

"Well come in boy, I don't like people just standing around my home." I tear the painting away, and enter the thing's room. An overpowering wave of dark magic is emanating from this creature. Vampire. Necrarch most likely.

"Yes boy. Necrarch, W'soran to be specific."

I blink in wonder. W'soran, the first of the Necrarchs, believed to have been sent to the bottom of the ocean by a hurricane.

"Never understood how that myth got started honestly, we can walk around underwater after all."

Damn. Always hated the read your thoughts routine Necrarchs have.

"Makes us amazing at chess at least."

"Will you not do that! It's really creepy. Anyway, if you really are W'soran, what in the name of Morr's arse are you doing here? Why wouldn't you just return to the Black City?"

"Simple you stupid boy, running water! We can't cross remember? Besides, it's rather nice here. I have all the books I need, test subjects when I want them, and we're sitting on a magical leyline almost as strong as the Valley of the Damned."

"Guess I can see your logi... wait, how are you getting test subjects if you can't leave?"

"Are you actually mentally deficient! Or did you get a concussion bashing your head into my front door? Just because I can't leave doesn't mean I can't create minions to do my work. There are untold corpses under this forest. Why do you think it grows so quickly? The soil is probably the most fertile in the world."

"And? I can't work magic here. The water prevents it."

"Morr's cock! How many people drown in rivers boy? How many people die out at sea? The dead are in the water! You don't need to cast across the water, just cast into it. For a vampire, you really are a total imbecile."

I snarl in annoyance. If he was anyone else, my fangs would be at his throat, but this senile old bastard has to be over a five millenia old.

"Ten millenia to be exact. By the way boy, if you call me senile again, I'll tear your pretty face off and set your throat on fire."

"Aren't you just a fountain of good cheer."

"Be quiet. If you want you can read some of my books, no doubt you will find something useful here. Now, leave me alone. I'm almost about to make a breakthrough."


	5. Chapter 5

RnR I don't own warhammer or the inheritance cycle. Foreign languages are translated at the bottom of the page

* * *

The old necrarch smirked as he watched the young vampire stare off into the night sky.

"Nothing like what your used to eh boy?"

Heinrich spun round to face W'soran, his face pulled back in a threatening snarl.

"Relax boy. If I was going to kill you, you would never know, nor could you stop me."

The Von Carstein relaxed visibly.

"True enough." Heinrich murmured.

"Of course it's true. I wouldn't have said it otherwise. It's always like this. No matter how many times I look at it I can never get used to it. It isn't my sky."

"It isn't Sylvania."

"You noticed. How perceptive of you."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

W'soran cackled and then turned back towards the door that led back into the tower.

"Follow boy. There is something you must see."

Together, the two vampires went back into the dark tower.

* * *

The darkness presses in on my eyes. This is no natural dark. Magic is at work here. Beside me W'soran marches forward with increasing vigor. It is as if the farther we go, the stronger he becomes. I feel his iron grip on my arm, guiding in this blinding dark. Then suddenly, I can see. I am standing in a shadowy vault, five statues at each point of a pentagram made of stone on the chamber floor.

"The elves of this forest never entered this tower. They enchanted it with spells to keep what ever was put inside in, but they never explored it. If they had, they would have discovered me I would've finished my work long ago." hisses W'soran from behind me. The old necrarch stands taller than before, his wrinkled face now smooth. The incredible age I had seen before is gone, replaced by a thin powerful youth.

"What is this place?"

The necrarch pauses for a moment before answering. "It is a Nagashian Gate. Very old dark magic. If an immortal is sacrificed before these statues, the founders of the great vampire clans, then the gate opens, and I will bring my descendants into this land, and we shall create the kingdom of death."

"What immortal do you plan to use... oh no. No, no, no!" I turn to run, but W'soran stands at the entrance, a wicked smile on his face.

"What better offering than one of those who betrayed the great necromancer." the necrarch hisses, his voice making me shiver.

He lunges for me, fangs bared. I fall back, letting him collide with one of the five statues. Rising from the ground, the old bastard spits a curse in my direction, a black fire bursting from his hands and flying towards me. A rapidly spoken ward saves me from destruction. As I look back to the necrarch, he is already lunging towards me again. I desperately try to get out of his way, but he seizes my arm as he passes, dragging me down. One hand yanks my hair back, exposing my neck. Another strikes me across the face, making the room blur. Then something strange happens. The necrarch falls back with a screech of pain, clutching his hand. I taste blood. But it is not my own.

"You bastard!" W'soran screams "I will destroy you you filthy little worm! Your blood will open the gate and your soul will go to Nagash!"

I feel the power of W'soran flowing through my veins as I swallow the old necrarch's blood.

"How dare you!" W'soran screams again, but now I can hear the fear in his voice. A bolt of pure darkness flies towards me, blasting one of the statues apart as it flies past my head. A spell rises unbidden to my lips, and W'soran wails in anguish as his body is slashed again and again by thousands of invisible blades. Blood splatters on the pentagram, and the sigil glows with a red light. An inhuman screech sends me flying backwards. Banshees. The bastard created banshees. Two ghostly women, their beautiful faces contorted by their gaping mouths. Twin wails make me double over in agony, my ears ringing. I spit a curse of deafness, removing all sound from my world. I cast around desperately, searching for souls to use against the banshees. Two glowing souls catch my interest, the souls of two dead mages. Perfect. I drag the souls from Morr's garden, and bring them to my side. Two robed figures, glowing blue eyes glinting in their skulls. Twin scythes glow with a white heat. As my wraiths surge forward, W'soran's banshees scream and charge. A black flame from W'soran burns away the flesh of my face as it hit me. My scream of pain is drowned out by W'soran's laughter. In desperation I summon the last of my new found strength and incant one of the most deadly spells I know. The gaze of nagash. As I fade from consciousness, I hear W'soran screaming in pain.


	6. Chapter 6

Please RnR

Any suggestions are welcome. Any requests are welcome as well.

* * *

My head aches as if I have been hit over the head by a war hammer. I am lying in the cellar of the Necrarch's tower, its shadowy recesses illuminated by a red light emanating from a swirling portal in the center of the chamber. W'soran has vanished, as have his banshees. My wraiths are now piles of bone and singed cloth. As I struggle to my feet, I hear countless voices chattering in my mind, and thousands of images make me stagger as they cascade before my eyes. I won. I defeated one of the master vampires. My relieved laugh is cut off by a burst of pain that sends me to my knees. Crying out in agony, I grab my right arm s it twitches and writhes, bones within snapping and shattering. My flesh slowly tears apart as my bones reform into the bones of a large bat wing. My tattered flesh rapidly re knits itself, changing and toughening until my entire right arm is a giant leathery wing. A second burst of pain and I feel my body slowly float upwards, propelled by dark power. My entire body burns as if I am standing in a bonfire, and my mind goes blank with pain. Then a wave of memories pour into my mind, a lifetime of violence and cruelty spanning millenia imprint themselves onto my consciousness, the knowledge and experience that comes with a lifetime of study granted to me in the blink of an eye. The pain recedes and I fall backwards, my limbs flailing. It is quite surprising how high the ceiling of the tower cellar actually is for it takes a full ten seconds for me to hit the floor of the cellar. That is actually incorrect, since I don't actually collide with the floor. Instead, I tumble into the portal, so the floor I collide with is not identifiable. That is until I stand up and look around. I am in a long dark throne room, banners made of human skin hanging from the walls. Dozens of vampires stand frozen in shock, many with drawn weapons. I am in my castle in Sylvania. Now if only my day would stop being as random as a drunken goblin, then we would be making progress.

"May I as what you are doing in _my _throne room?" snaps a voice behind me. A tall handsome vampire sits on my throne, a set of elegant robes covering a suit of finely crafted armor. He is quite clearly young, his body bearing none of the scars that come from battle or the use of magic.

He smiles confidently, and I force myself not to tear his face from his skull. "I said, what are you doing in my throne room? Answer and you may live." The vampire's voice is high pitched and soft. A dandy is playing king on my throne. The urge to tear his eyes out is overwhelming. I leap for him, a feral shriek splitting the dead silence in the throne room. The boy's eyes widen in shock, then he screams in pain as I slash him across the face with my clawed hand. Instantly the room explodes into noise, as the young vampire's retainers charge forward to save their pathetic master, and the rest, several of whom are retainers of mine, rush to aid me. Moments later, I stand before my throne covered in blood, with the two dozen vampires left in my entourage, standing in a rough semi-circle around me. Two stand closer to me than the rest. Tauer Vulfsbadn, a Blood Dragon who has acted as my regent for the past five centuries and Aleksander Von Carstein, one of my best friends before my blood kiss, and my most loyal follower in undeath. My two retainers stand before me, Aleksander giving me a courtly bow, and Tauer slamming his sword hand to his armored chest in salute. As they do, the rest of my followers make similar gestures of subservience, some even prostrating themselves before me.

I have an army once again.

"We shall return to the land I so recently left. The people of that place have offended me. I intent to teach them a lesson in who do not wish to accompany me will be slain. Understood?"

"Ja mein herr." my servants howl. A burst of elation makes my heart sing. I have missed my court. The petty intrigues, the machinations of the weak, the comfort of total ruthless politicking, and of course, the endless sex and violence. I smirk as one by one, my many followers walk past me into the portal to Alagaesia.

"


	7. Chapter 7

Islanzadi turned fitfully in her sleep. The elf queen rolled back and forth, her dreams haunted by images of death and shadows. In the forest beyond her bed chamber, a solitary wolf howled at the glaring hunters moon, the blood red orb dominating the night sky. As a second wolf joined in the lament, Islanzadi jerked awake, her body soaked with sweat. The elf queen staggered to her feet, blinking rapidly to drive the nightmarish images from her mind, but the dream persisted. Trapped in her own mind, Islanzadi hurtled through a world of moonlight and shadows. Up a long winding road towards a dark castle. In her minds eye, Islanzadi saw an army of corpses marching out of the castle gates, a solitary armored horseman at their head. Millions of bats fluttered through the air, and hundreds of massive wolves raced through the forests surrounding the castle. A single light shone from a window in the tallest tower, pulling Islanzadi towards it like a outside the window, Islanzadi watched a tall figure rise from a kneeling position beside a large bed. The figure turned to the window, and Islanzadi resisted the urge to scream in terror. It was the creature that had defied death in her very hall. The lower half of his face was covered in blood, rivulets running down his neck and over his finely crafted plate armor. He grinned, then gestured to the bed. Following his gesture, Islanzadi peered through the window at the bed. A corpse lay on the white sheets, her throat torn out, blood staining the sheets a deep red. Then Islanzadi saw the figures face and screamed. The figure was her.

* * *

There is something incredibly special about leading an army. It is a feeling of power, of invincibility. I have that feeling now as I ride at the head of my court. My nightmare's flaming hooves scorch the grass we pass over, leaving trails of fire and the scent of brimstone behind me. Tauer flies far above me, his corpse dragon screaming a challenge to the land we shall soon destroy. To my right, Aleksander rides at the head of my household knights, the standard of my court held aloft in his right hand. Behind my retinue comes the creatures of darkness. Large wolves, their jaws flecked with spit, as well as flocks of ravens and crows, their harsh cries cutting through the silence of the forest. We left the tower behind us an hour ago, the ruined building toppled to create the bridge needed for us to cross the river. Now I ride in the direction of the elven city, an army at my back, and my powers greater than ever before. This land will know the name of Heinrich Von Carstein, even if I must carve it into the very bones of this land. The Wolf Court has come, and we shall leave only death in our wake.

A loud explosion makes me look up. A blue blur flies at Tauer and his mount, slamming into them with a burst of flame. The elves' dragon. I stay for a moment to contemplate the death of the blue dragon and it's rider, then spur my mount onwards, the rest of my retinue following in my wake.

* * *

Eragon reeled back in shock as he caught a real glimpse of the massive dragon. Large holes punched clean through it's wings and body, some areas of it's body rotted away leaving only bones. The dragon was a living corpse.

_Saphira! What evil magic is this!_

_I know not Eragon! _Saphira replied, the blue dragon's mind filled with fear. _Nothing should be able to bring the dead back to life_.

"Entlegen!" snarled the undead dragon's rider. "Sie sind nicht wert töten!"

"You will regret coming here monster!" Eragon called back, his sword Brisinger flashing in the sunlight.

"Sehr gut." groaned the rider, drawing a long sword from a sheath on his back.

Suddenly, Eragon was falling. He and the rider were locked in a vice like grip, hurtling towards the ground. Above them, Saphira screamed in panic and fury as the corpse dragon prevented her from saving Eragon. The massive dragon clawed and bit at Saphira, it's blows making the younger, weaker dragon reel. As Eragon cried out in concern, the rider slammed a fist into Eragon's stomach, punching through his armor and crushing his ribs. A second thunderous blow with the hilt of the rider's sword shattered Eragon's jaw, nearly knocking him senseless. A third blow, this time to Eragon's sword arm, resulted in a agonizing cracking sound as Eragon's arm snapped. With a kick to the stomach, the rider pushed off Eragon, to land lightly on the ground. Eragon however, was not so lucky, landing with a crash spread eagle on the ground, his back fracturing as the force of the landing flew up his spine.

"Ich sagte ihnen, um aus meinen weg jugend." murmured the rider. A screeching cry came from above them, and Eragon watched in horror as the undead dragon plummeted towards them, Saphira hanging from it's jaws like a rat. With a whoosh of air, the dragon dropped Saphira on the ground, it's rider leaping up to his saddle with inhuman agility. Eragon watched powerless as the pair flew off towards Ellesmera.

* * *

Tauer smirked as he flew away from the ruined boy and his dragon. Rather sad really, the old blood dragon reflected, he really had to stop leaving these arrogant upstarts alive. It would eventually come back to bite him in the ass. Nevertheless, Tauer spurred his dragon on, maybe in this city of elves, there would be a foe worthy of death at his hands.

* * *

Entlegen: Get out of the way

Sie sind nicht wert töten: You are not worth killing

Sehr gut: Very well

Ich sagte ihnen, um aus meinen weg jugend: I told you to get out of my way boy


	8. Chapter 8

RnR I don't own warhammer or the inheritance cycle. Foreign languages are translated at the bottom of the page

* * *

The first one to sight the shape of the dragon in the sky had been Eragon. He and Saphira had flown off to combat the dragon, and to the dismay of all, had not returned. The next person to notice something was wrong had been Arya. The elven princess heard the thundering of hooves as she set off to find Eragon. She had barely enough time to mentally scream a warning before the horsemen were upon them. Massive horses whose eyed burned with green fire thundered past stunned elven sentries, long swords lashing out to hack into lightly armored bodies. Behind them came hundreds of wolves, their bodies mutated into hulking monsters that leapt for astonished elves, tearing at throats and stomachs. Thousands of ravens hurtled through the air, pecking at eyes and exposed flesh. By the time the elves had rallied and counter attacked, the horsemen had moved further into the city, many carrying torches that blazed with magical fire.

"Totet alle! Nichts am leben! Wir werden brennen diesen ort zu ort und stelle im namen des zählen!" howled one of the horsemen, his sword impaling a fleeing elf.

"Blut und schatten!" cried the riders around him. The band then turned and charged towards a group of elves who were trying to escape the spreading green flames.

A shower of arrows pitched the riders from their saddles. Twelve elf wardens ran from their hiding places, taking blades to the throats of the fallen horsemen.

"Die schwache kampf zurück! Größer unsere ehre! Größer unsere herrlichkeit!" howled one of the fallen horsemen, seizing the elf who tried to cut his throat by the face and hurling him into a wall. The elf's face caved in with a sickening crunch.

"Blut und schatten!" screamed his surviving allies as they set upon the wardens, tearing the elves limb from limb. A burst of fire from one of the elves incinerated a horseman, but the elf who cast the spell was cut down by the blade of a second rider. An arrow speared one of the riders through the eye, but the warrior simply tore the arrow out and hurled it like a dart, straight through the chest of the elf who fired it. A spell of death sent two of the horsemen to the ground, only to rise once more at a command from one of their companions. The offending elf was torn apart by what looked like screaming shadows, his body splattered across the courtyard. Arya ran forward, her short sword cutting into the neck of one of the horsemen, a spray of blood temporarily blinding her.

"Elf schlampe! Ich werde zerreißen, ihre herzen!" the rider rasped, his red eyes glowing angrily.

Arya ducked as the rider's sword swung at her head, rolling to the rider's side, and punching her blade into the opening in the rider's breastplate. A gurgling scream of rage came from the rider's gaping mouth, before a violent twist of Arya's sword tore his insides apart. The rider slumped over, his red eyes glazing over.

Only two of the riders were still standing, their swords stained with blood. Arya now stood alone in the courtyard, the two riders bearing down on her. The rest of the elves lay in various stages of dismemberment, their blood gathering in deep puddles. A loud explosion made the two warriors turn. Five elven mages stood behind them, magical energy swirling around them.

"Feiglingen! Haben sie keine ehre?" screamed one of the warriors, before both of them were engulfed in magical fire.

"Are you unharmed Arya drottingu?" one of the mages asked, his long face filled with concern.

"Yes. We must go to my mother. See if any of our people here are still left alive then follow me."

"Yes Arya drottingu."

The mages ran past Arya, their long robes dragging in the puddles of gore.

Slowly Arya counted the bodies of the slain riders. Four men. Four men had butchered twelve elves. Such a thing was unheard of, a feat impossible even for the most skilled riders or elven warriors. One of the warriors bare face stared up at Arya, his face split into a cruel smirk. A small tattoo on his forehead caught Arya's attention and she leaned forward to get a better look. The tattoo was of a snarling wolf, rivulets of blood flowing from it's jaws.

* * *

Totet alle! Nichts am leben! Wir werden brennen diesen ort zu ort und stelle im namen des zählen!: The weak fight back! Greater the honor! Greater the glory!

Blut und schatten!: Blood and shadows!

Elf schlampe! Ich werde zerreißen, ihre herzen!: Elf slut! I'll tear out your heart!

Feiglingen! Haben sie keine ehre?: Cowards! Have you no honor?


End file.
